When Silence Speaks (a meditation on Holy Week and the "March for our Lives")

"When Silence Speaks"

“The Son of Man will be handed over to people, and they will kill him. After three days, he will rise from the dead.” Mark 9:31

Emma Gonzalez stood on the stage before 80,000 people last Saturday on the Washington Mall. A Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School student, she has become one of the most prominent voices in the #NeverAgain movement. The day was electric. But, not for the words, nor the rhetoric, but for a stunning silence of nearly four minutes as she stood grieving behind the microphones.

“Six minutes and about 20 seconds," she said. "In a little over 6 minutes, 17 of our friends were taken from us, 15 were injured and everyone in the Douglas community was forever altered."

"Everyone who was there understands. Everyone who has been touched by the cold grip of gun violence understands. For us, long, tearful, chaotic hours in the scorching afternoon sun were spent not knowing. No one understood the extent of what had happened."

She repeated the names of the 17 students and faculty that had died and the things they would never do again. Then, she stood silent. Tears rolled down her cheeks while the crowd broke out in isolated chants. But, mostly there was silence.

The “moment of silence” we often call for to respect the fallen usually lasts no more than 30 seconds. But there, among a crowd that had come together to march for their lives, the silence hovered like a cloud for over four minutes. The chants faded. The murmuring of casual movement ceased. All that was left was the air between the sea of humans and an 18-year-old girl bravely honoring her friends and crying to be heard; a silence that must be heard.

After 4 minutes and 25 seconds, a timer went off. "Since the time that I came out here," she said, "it has been 6 minutes and 20 seconds. The shooter has ceased shooting and will soon abandon his rifle, blend in with the students as they escape and walk free for an hour before arrest."

On a Friday afternoon outside Jerusalem another crowd had gathered. The man people called the Messiah was being crucified. Strangely, he had stayed mostly silent during the mock trial performed by the state and religious leaders. Jesus knew what was coming and had made it clear to His disciples on more than one occasion.

“The Son of Man will be handed over to the people, and they will kill him. After three days, he will rise from the dead.” Then, silence. His followers had no idea what Jesus meant and were afraid to ask him.

And I wonder if we struggle with what He meant as well. We call this week “Holy”. We attend church on Easter, wear new clothes, enjoy brunches and happily celebrate the Risen King. But we cannot understand the resurrection of Christ apart from the agony of Friday and the silence of the tomb.

Ms. Gonzalez and her student friends have experienced the cycle of death and violence and now want something to be done. What if Jesus’ death was an invitation for us to give up that same cycle of violence and choose real life? What if these students are echoing what Jesus did on the cross as they “March for our Lives”?

Pastor and writer Brian Zahnd has said, "The cross is not where God inflicts violence on Jesus in order to vent his wrath; the cross is where God in Christ endures human inflicted violence and forgives it all." We who follow Jesus do well to remember how He “triumphed”. We cannot celebrate Resurrection without understanding the violence He willingly endured from humanity.

The cross with its seeming humiliation and defeat was actually God’s way of overcoming our nasty addiction to harm and violence. No warrior ever triumphed by being executed; but Jesus did. The tomb with its seeming silence and death was actually God’s statement that a new way was coming, and indeed, had already arrived.

When Jesus rose from the dead He invited us to lay down our arms, to say “no” to harmful words and actions, and to say “yes” to our lives, our new lives connected to Him. God refused to drop the “Mother of all Bombs” on the human race. Instead He sent His Beloved Son into enemy territory to absorb the hatred, violence and sin of us all, and return it fully forgiven.

That is enough to shut my own mouth for four minutes and consider: How shall I follow my Master’s way?

Well Seasoned

Well Seasoned

(“Jesus said to him, ‘If you are able!—All things can be done for the one who believes.’” Mark 9:23)

I had hoped to be well-seasoned by now,
a cast-iron skillet passed down from each generation.
Instead I watch the robins arrive and notice them for the
second time
out my back window days before Spring.
They know nothing of my, nor describe my fashions.
But they, attired in their puffy red shirts, skip across the
hill behind my house…as they have done each Spring despite
absent eyes full of seeing.

They did not ask my permission, nor was it required. They
are not an intrusion, they are not a new obsession; but I started
looking for them this year
before they arrived.

I had hoped to be well-reasoned by now,
a vast basin of academia attested by my decorations.
Instead I muddle; my arguments are more subtle,
and my conclusions less sharp than last I was tested.
My interest in prooftexts has abated.

I’ll take that second glass of wine now.

No, I do not have a boy thrown into the water and the fire;
no demons, no foaming, no froth and no briar,
my anxieties lie much deeper and higher.

I am pregnant with something that will not be born,
my chest heaves with leaden air and my mind reboots the
assumptions I placed each bet upon.
The gestation is decades and will not be stillborn but
my fear is
it will not be born at all.

I do not have a boy thrown into water or fire,
but the robins return and I ask where I fit
after their nests are built, the blue eggs crack
and I sit on the same couch from which
I watched them arrive.

I had hoped to be well-pleasing by now,
a scholar in my field, a golden apple from the tree.
Tomorrow may tell; tonight the daffodils
will push through the clods like butter and I

Will wonder how to love You better since the
seasons are shortening and my longings are unborn.

See-Through Walls

See-Through Walls

(“Whoever despises his neighbor sins, but whoever is gracious to the needy is blessed.” Proverbs 14:21)

When your only solution is see-through walls

to keep out the undesirables,
they’ll see you with your big black boots
kicking the water jugs away from their reach.

When the beaches are scattered with tanners who have
plans for the evening but not for the night,
the rafts arrive silently on the slow red tide.

The imperfect walk among us,
the last are heading the list,
the assault upon our senses needs
new thoughts and amendments,
the first are refusing to list.

Slant away from your stakes in the ground,
lean toward the limps and the moths,
leave your foundation, forsake the partition
that divides the planet in pieces. How is peace
conditional upon common dialects when your
own words are swallowed beneath the crosses
you’ve burned.

The wind has shifted again, the immigrants sing.
The wind is blowing again, the refugees flee
for open shores, a hope and reports of grace beyond
purple mountains sea-to-sea. The song
is sung again
and only those who listen will

Find the powerful embrace of losing it all
for goodness’ sake.

Attractive

Attractive

“And everywhere he went the people brought the sick to the marketplaces. They begged him to let them touch just the edge of his coat, and all who touched it were healed.” Mark 6:56

I hope I never lose the wonder of the attractiveness of Jesus. He was always available, always approachable. And, those who were attracted to Him were often those on the “outside” of the acceptable society. Wherever He went people brought others to Him, laying their sick friends at His feet, knowing they would not be rejected.

It’s not that Jesus enjoyed crowds themselves. In fact, Jesus seems to avoid them most of the time, and never brags about them in the least. The gospel writers mentioned that Jesus fed several thousand with only a few fish and loaves of bread, but this was only to emphasize the greatness of the miracle. Jesus was always looking at people, not masses.

More than once, after healing someone, He would command them to keep quiet and tell no one about what He had done. That is a strange strategy if you want to be a famous religious leader, right? Jesus didn’t care about being “famous”, He cared about His Father’s mission. If people came crowding to because they thought He was going to take down Rome, they would be sorely disappointed. Or, they would be disappointed in His methods, to be sure.

Jesus did not whip crowds into a frenzy of excitement. He did not use the crowds to assess His own success. The crowds came to Him. He was the attraction, the lodestone that drew people with every sort of need to Him.

My favorite minister, J.R. Cissna, built a church of over 1,000 people in Tulsa, Okla and served there over 26 until the mid-1970s. But, when I knew him, he was the happy and content pastor of a congregation of under 200. He had been the target of a church “coup” when an assistant pastor, encouraged by a few folks, took over the Tulsa church. Cissna told me the story during the three years I served as his assistant in the smaller church. But he never blamed the young man and never longed for the “larger” congregation. All he ever did was love the people God gave to him; and I was one of them.

We kept up a phone relationship until he died in 2004. One of the last times we talked He said to me, “Mark, you’ll never guess where I am ministering now.” His voice was always full of laughter. “Sulphur, Oklahoma. The church has dwindled to eight people. But we’re working on it!” He was 86 years old and breathing life into a once thriving small-town church. And he did it the same way he always had: he loved the people God gave to him.

I think J.R. knew something about the attractiveness of Jesus. You see, when Jesus healed people, He didn’t give them a lecture, He didn’t ask if they deserved it, He didn’t ask if they were Roman or Jewish, poor or rich. Always, Jesus simply saw the need.

I hope the American Church can rediscover the attractiveness of Jesus. When we hear of thousands of high school kids walking out of their classes in response to the Parkland, Fla school shooting, will we give them a listening ear? Will we be like Jesus and allow them to bring their hurt to us, His church, who represent His healing, love and protection?

When men and women march because they feel their concerns about racism, equal pay, domestic violence, poverty or sexual harassment are not being heard, how will we, as representatives of Jesus respond? Will we learn to hear their stories? Will we learn to be just as attractive as Jesus to those who have been hurt?

People ran all over the countryside to find Jesus wherever He was. They did not hold back. They knew that they could even touch His garment, that they could literally beg for His attention and not be rejected.

Let us make our homes places where people are welcomed. Let our speech be seasoned with grace at all times. Let us find friends among the loneliest, the least likely, the ones who are begging to be heard. Let us be attractive. And, once people know they can be heard, we will probably see many also healed.

Mingle the Waters

Mingle the Waters

(“As Scripture says, ‘Not one person has God’s approval.’” Romans 4:29)

Crying on demand is easy; it’s the silent tears with no one to dry them
that hold on like babies in a lifeboat.

Pieces of sleet, pebbles of hail said their “hello” in late winter fashion. Their hints
of snowfall
were false that morning as the sun woke the sky. But

For a moment the tears were disguised by moisture from heaven
and a back that was turned from all observation.

The long walk from discovery to dysthymia deadened waking reverie,
the intentions of youth and the inventions of faith. The stones of judgement
carved from the quarry of grace
pelted hopes that the horizon would welcome my arrival. Quotes heard repeated,
turned glow into silence. Half a belief is worse than Gehenna’s fire.

So, where, water from the heavens, will you fall today? Will Father say
I am still unworthy? Will I hear only the shards of phrases? Will they stick
like slivers deep in my skin?

Will you evaporate before you reach my face, the better words of famous grace?
How shall I taste the snow upon my tongue, the mist clinging to my eyebrows
and sneaking down my cheeks? Will you

Mingle the waters of grace with my unseen tears until
the obscene betrayal is turned full-face into the Wind, the Rain,
the Snow and the Joy of one moment of knowing?

Will you mingle Your nature with my own?